Our Cowardly New World
by Writer Awakened
Summary: My attempt at something new: A completely serious, alternate-universe FE7/FE8 cross set in a modern-age dystopia. Multiple, multiple POVs. "I am Eliwood." "I am Ephraim." "I am X." In a world where two Is and many Theys collide, memories come to life. On hiatus.
1. These cold, faraway memories

**_Our Cowardly New World_**

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(Warnings for occasional coarse language.)

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In a place where the snow covers even the smallest traces of brightness, and the lines of poverty and good fortune are drawn in the sand and blown away by the wind, there comes to mind the miserable peoples of our world. This is a cold place built by human hands and left to rot by human hands. But the memories, they do not belong to the miserable people. They simply borrow them for a fleeting lifetime.

This is my attempt at a _serious_ Fire Emblem 7/8 crossover, set in an alternate universe version of the near future, in a semi-dystopia. I could only select two genres to categorize this as, but more accurately this would be classified as a: Drama/Supernatural/Romance/Sci-Fi/Humor story. And if "Mindfuck" were a genre, that would definitely fit, too.

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_Prologue: These Cold, Faraway Memories__  
_

-

It's a difficult life, here.

I walked down the middle of the snow-strewn streets, with my hands stuffed in the pockets of my fur. I had my hat tipped over my head, the brim tilted low to hide my eyes. I guess I was a little self-conscious, being here on the streets at a distasteful time like this. There was the middle class, and there were the poor, and among either of those groups, I must have seemed like an elitist snob, wearing my _fur_ coat and waltzing through the streets like a rich man. Off in the distance, the old highroad swerved high in the sky and snaked around into the distance, the headlights glaring off into the sky in a preoccupied manner. This was one of the lower streets, one less traveled. No one came down here unless they had to or they lived here. It was well-populated, but quiet, and gave off a melancholy and sad aura, rather than a dangerous or uncomfortable one. Maybe it was the snow.

Ours was a city where you had to play the cards they dealt you, or you'd die a vagrant's death, the death of a man who was too stubborn to know he could not aspire for anything greater. Here, it wasn't about planning for the future, but planning for the present. It was a little slice of reality, far different from the fantasy I lived in my comfortable home. We lived on the _edge_ of "town". There was no suffering in our every days. But I made it a point to come down here every so often and breathe in the damp, often snow-filled air, to always remind myself I didn't have it so bad.

The streets were now a mess of snow and ice, and the walkways were covered in slush that disliked my comfy, insulated boots. But now, even in the afternoon, when the sun still shone weakly through the screen of snow, the buildings were dark and shut. No doors were open to me, save perhaps the one I was seeking. I dug one hand deeper into my coat and sunk my shoulders down a bit lower.

I held the small note-card in my hand, and it caught the tiny flecks of snow until, over time, it became a host for all the sky's snow. I brushed it off and was pleased to see I could still make out the address on the card.

_Ninian…_

So, after what seemed like hours of wandering asleep (though I was indeed awake for the walk's entirety), I turned the corner of the street, and I did so several times, winding around what seemed like a maze of faceless, gray buildings lashed with snow and afflicted with a terrible symptom of poverty. For all the money my father and I had, it would do nothing to solve these problems. These problems were rooted in something bigger, in something global, something that could not be avoided at any cost- destiny. As long as the sad world still ran on sin, it was fated to crumble under the weight of its own misdeeds, or so Father Lucius said.

That Father Lucius was an optimist only depressed me further. I remember him distinctly.

I sighed and looked up into the sky as I thought about him. I recall looking up into the sky as I strode those sidewalks, nearing ever closer to that street, to meet that girl. In quiet, contemplative times, Lucius' memory would always come to me. I didn't know where he was now. For the longest time, he was the lone bishop among a flock of lowly monks and one cleric, there at the old place of worship. That old place, a run-down piece of nothingness on the street corner, was like a second home to me, even though the squalor of that place could not compare to the majesty of my home. My family was wealthy, and though their opulence never detached them from the rest of the world, I still always wondered if someone like me could belong here, on the streets where the average man toils on the main and struggles for the legal tender.

Sometimes I would walk, or ride a trashed old bicycle into the city _just_ to visit that sacred place, the place where God and Goddess were many and one, to calm my nerves if I was nervous or sad. O Father Lucius…when you left, it was like an irreplaceable part of my childhood had gone, also. All that time I spent, kneeling there, you kneeling beside, your arm wrapped around me, crying with me, absolving me of sins I feared I might have committed against the world. Oh, I remember above all your kindness, your grace, your majesty. You were rising in your years, I knew. The gray of age had begun to settle upon your beautiful golden hair. And then, you left, without a word, without a trace. I think…I think it was years ago, maybe two.

_Was it really that long?_

And, if I recall, that week before you left…that was the first time I saw Raymond again, as well. He had laid down his badge, didn't he? He couldn't forgive himself. You were…really, the only one to whom he could flee, to whom he could confess his sins. It was _always_ like that. Even when I was a child, I would watch you two speak with my father, and I could see that you were troubled, even when you were laughing. Both of you. We were all friends

_Lucius, Raymond…we'll meet again. When the times are better, we'll meet again, and catch up on old times. This is something I will not fail in. Even if I've failed in everything else, still...  
_

Eventually I came to my destination. There was no questioning it, no mistaking it for anything. Not so much the sight- a rundown building wedged between others of its ilk, dilapidated and buried in a shallow snow grave. But it was the _number_! The number I had been told, the one I had wedged firmly in my memories and refused to let go. The number I wrote down on a note-card unnecessarily. Five-seven-seven Bard's Lane. An otherwise unimportant street among many, many unimportant streets in this melancholy gray labyrinth, our city. But I recognized this building from my dreams; it was the only house on the whole road with a string of beads draping the door's crest, and a ring of dried, shriveled roses hanging dead-center.

_Amazing…it lasted even that long…her flowers...  
_

Note-card in hand, I rapped on the door in the pattern indicated. It was our old childhood signal, a sign used in secret codes when we played codebreakers or safecrackers or something like that. Back then, we played Big Daddy and Little Sister, and I was her protector even though we were the same age. Back then, she called me "Mr. Bubbles".

Two raps, three raps, two raps, four.

And thus I knocked upon the door.

There was a trundling of feet, and a rustling sound. From the other side of the door through the peephole, I heard a gasp of excitement, one so distinct that neither the deepness nor the maturity of it could mask it for what it was, for what I remembered of it. It was the sound of innocence. In this world, that could only mean it was her and no one else.

The beautiful young woman flung her door wide open and her face melted with joy seeing me. Her teal hair swung behind her, brown eyes bubbling with tears. She nearly dove headfirst into my arms, and she could barely speak, but she weakly uttered one word to me in her breathlessness: my name.

"Eliwood…"

---

_Where…am I? Who am I?  
_

The first thing I knew was that I was another me.

No, another "I". A different I. I had a dream where I was a different "I". I. Me.

I lifted my head off of the hard cot on which I had been resting. I felt claustrophobic, like I was in a tight, enclosed space. But I was afraid to open my eyes. I didn't remember anything for the longest time…did I want to know where I was, or…

Something whirred gently from above me, so I knew I could not have gone deaf. I felt a cool gust brush against my face relentlessly (but softly), so I knew I still could feel. The light in the room was dim, almost to the point of uselessness; so much so that when I first began to see, I did not know whether or not I had gone blind.

But, I hadn't. The room I was in was indeed very small, a box-shaped room with a ceiling fan diligently whirring, directly above me, and a dim, dim light inset within the middle. One window, overlooking a blank-faced building of brick, stood alone, and on the wall opposite, a rustic wooden door, tightly locked from the inside. Someone had scribbled something on the walls. "Godot isn't coming" said one of the messages, scribbled in blue crayon almost illegibly. On another wall, someone had written, "The Party will Never stop" and on another wall, in the same handwriting, was writ "My Sister is throwing a Party and a Party is throwing her." On another wall, someone wrote, "They tried and died." in sand-colored ink. On another wall, someone wrote, "Love the Ministry of Love." I shook my head. I looked up. Somehow, someone had written "Rapture" on the ceiling. The letters were red, like blood. Only God could have written it...in a place like this, I figured, anyone with a ladder could play at being God. I looked up but there was a ceiling. Therefore I could only look down.

_Trapped in a prison in God knows where, the door is locked from this side, and the lights are dim as blazes. Where the hell am I? Still, I must get out of here. Now. I have to do something. I don't know who I am. This is going to drive me mad if I don't figure it out.  
_

So, I sat up, and rubbed my eyes with my hand. I could hear the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere, but I could make out no clock anywhere, not on the wall, not on the windowsill, nothing. It was a chilling noise to hear in such solitude, but after several seconds of examining, I decided it was really of little concern, and I had more pressing matters to attend to. Someone had written something on the wall above the door. It said, "All hope abandon, ye who enter in". Somehow it only filled me with hope. I needed a drink but I didn't have one. So I had no courage. Balling up my fist, I braced myself for whatever might have lurked behind the door, undid the chain-lock, and stepped outside.

I was hoping I would appear truly outside, in the fresh, snowy air. But it was just a damnable hall, a narrow hall with yellowed peeling wallpaper and low ceilings and flies buzzing and the smell of crap and death. Above me, the lights flickered in their sockets and flickered, dim and dumb. Radio music was playing. "How much is that dragon-is that dragon-is that dragon-is that dragon-is that dragon-" It must have been broken. Broken like my MIND. Bang!

"Oh GOD, JULIA!"

I nearly jumped into the air. The voice that I heard was so loud, it had to come from somewhere else, but there was no one else around, and it was not the radio. The radio only said, "Dragon, dragon, dragon" dutifully, always the same each time. "Dragon, dragon, dragon," and the tone was always the same. Always the same, like a machine. It was a person's voice, repeated so perfectly that it could only be a machine.

The place was probably an old building, maybe an apartment building or an office complex from long ago. I blinked a bit to shake the fatigue out of my eyes, but my right eye was clouded, as if a selective fog had settled over it. Nothing but mist. Dull pain ran through my arm. It felt like a blunt injury as if something had been pulled or torn in the muscles. Still, for the life of me, I could not remember how I obtained the injury. Maybe I was attacked on the street, and some two-gold thugs with the phony teeth and the phony brains afflicted these injuries on me. But why could I not remember? I tried to remember my name. I _tried_.

_Good father of God...I can't remember my name!_

My steps echoed along the floor, the emptiness in the environment was clear to me as anything. This place was abandoned, or as good as abandoned. There was nothing in the halls, nothing in the winding, maze-like paths that ran in-between rusted doors and broken stairwells, that spoke to me of human habitation. Or at least, not the kind I was used to associating with.

_I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't my home. Good father of God, good father of God, who the hell am I? Who am I, and where? Who? And what is this filthy, abominable shit-hole?  
_

I pressed my hand against a door I saw marked "Men". It creaked open with a terrible sound like darkness and darkness scraping together. The restroom was almost completely Jet Black, save for one dim light hanging on the ceiling. The radio played music here in the bathroom, but it was different. "My most amusing valentine...you make me smile when I'm down, doo doo doo..." the radio said. For some reason I could not explain, the song made me feel sorrow. My chest tightened and for a moment I thought I was in love with something before I realized there was nothing in the bathroom to love.

The lone window in the bathroom was covered in black soot and ash, and a cold fog had blanketed each of the mirrors. It was a grim, filthy display, that window (window; I did not win a doe in a contest) but behind the grime, there was snow. Nothing but snow and a long drop down, down, down through the air to the ground far below. At least five stories, I would say. I had the feeling, and I wasn't often wrong in these cases. Snow. I knew snow. Snow was comforting to me, but I didn't know why. Snow tasted good.

_For all the damn good it does me…_

Someone had written "Bang!" on one of the bathroom walls. On another, someone had written, "For a good time, call Lady Sonia".

I walked in front of the mirror. The glass glared darkly at me. I didn't know if that was supposed to mean anything.

_Now. What do I look like? Let me see what has happened to me…_

I wiped the mildew and black dirt off the mirror and looked at myself. Seeing myself in the mirror for the first time frightened me.

_What the holy hell happened to me?! And why can't I remember it?_

I could not believe it. Never, in all the time I walked those halls had I thought I would look like this. My face was cut and scarred, great slashes running vertically and horizontally and diagonally across my face, and one of my eyes had been caught by a vicious slash running from one ear to my scalp.

_So that's why my vision… _

I lifted up my shirt. I was bruised and cut everywhere. I saw what looked like poorly-done stitching. I did not remember. The entire left side of my body was stitched up. The stitches were an ugly gray and yellow and smelled like hell.

"Oh GOD, JULIA! Yes, oh GOD, JULIA!"

I tried to ignore the voice. It was coming from the door, the window, the mirror, EVERYWHERE. It was a man's voice, weak and jealous and angry and ecstatic. I winced. I winced a ton. I tried to ignore it. It hurt, but I _tried _to ignored it.

_Good father of God, no...my name isn't...no, my name isn't Julia, is it? Good father of God, that's a WOMAN'S name! BANG! BANG! Oh god, Julia...  
_

My clothing, now that I noticed it, was different. I was wearing all white clothing, but the color white, white on white, blinded me. I hated it. I liked snow but I hated white clothes. Somehow seeing myself dressed in a soiled white shirt and plain white pants made me angry. Someone had cut a huge hole between the pant legs. Where there should have been a fly, there was an elephant. Suddenly scared to all hell and back again, I grabbed at my crotch and was pleased to find that everything was in order. The goods had not been tampered with on delivery. Bang!

When I looked back up, I saw the OH GOD, JULIA in my head.

The hole in my head.

_I should get that looked at..._

I shrugged, I pressed against the door, and left the darkness of the restroom behind. I thought I had heard a voice, but I really didn't.

_Nothing…nothing! Is my mind playing tricks on me?_

I walked those halls aimlessly. It could have been minutes, or hours. If I was going insane, it was because of solitude. What I _knew_ is that I was not used to being alone, and it was taking my money at the tollbooths. And I knew, I _knew_ that particular trait was familiar, somehow (maybe even both of them, hah.)

I could not recall how I came to stand where I did, but there I stood, at the foot of a great stair (after having descended) staring at a corridor that turned sharply to the right. My hands tugged at my hair; the solitude was obviously doing something to my mental state. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't take anything into account, I couldn't make rational decisions anymore. Then, I pricked up my ears and rose my sunken head so I could make out the faint sound of…something.

_Is that someone crying? Someone's crying!_

It was without thinking, without taking time to portent the ramifications of my reckless charge, but I bolted around the corner. For all I knew, I was diving into the depths of the enemy stronghold, into a bed of spines or a machine gun nest. But I saw something completely different, something that at once chilled me, comforted me, and reaffirmed me that I was still alive.

A woman sat in a chair in the dark yellowed hall, sitting upright like a fetus rotated ninety degrees, weeping softly to herself. Her beautiful blonde hair trailed down the back of her head and neck, her gentle face sunken and retracted into herself. Her face was slathered with lipstick.

_S-Selena? Why...I've never met her before, so why do I know her name?_

"Miss…" I said hesitantly, but my voice was only a whisper. Spending so long in silence had robbed me of something, it seemed. I spoke again, louder this time.

_Is this my voice? Oh, shit..._

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Ah!" the woman said, turning her head up to look at me. And as she did, her eyes lit up, her gorgeous red lips curling into an ecstatic smile. She rose to her feet with an inhuman quickness and called out once to someone, someone far away…

"Ephraim!"

I whirled around to see who it was, but instead the blonde woman threw her arms around _me_.

---

"Well…it's been a long time, now hasn't it?"

Lyon stood in the frame of the door, smiling. Even though the spacious room of the grand mansion was well-lit, warm, and inviting, the purple-haired man pulled his leather jacket closer to him. It was indeed a great room; the marble floor was covered at length by a large, plush area rug of red and blue, which made the size all the more bearable. Around a large table in the dead middle was a large oval table of oak, ringed by fellow oaken chairs. The borders of the rooms were fringed with bookshelves that stretched nearly to the sky and were filled to the limit with books of all sorts.

At the back of the room, the great fireplace roared with the gift of flame, spurned by the flame-colored gems that sat on the mantle and kept vigil over the room. In the center of them sat one larger gem, a crystal of such pure redness that Lyon could have sworn right there that it was a crystallized flame. At least, he wouldn't put it past his old friend to have something like that, knowing him as he did. In a high-backed chair of mahogany and oak, the man to whom Lyon extended a greeting sat looking away, a pipe hanging out of his mouth. He seemed to be staring into the fire, watching the embers vigilantly, subjecting each to his baleful, observant stare (which Lyon, at the moment, could not see). The lamps suspended on the ceiling filled out whatever light was not present.

After waiting for his old friend to amble over to his chair and stand over his shoulder, the sitting man decided to give his warm reply to his guest.

"It's been a long time indeed. I feared that perhaps you'd have forgotten about me, 'Leon'…"

Lyon smiled and brushed a lock of his lavender hair out of his face. A typical response from his old friend, but one he'd come to familiarize himself with. Thus, he replied comfortably, "That's a name I haven't been called in a while…"

"Since we last spoke, I presume?"

A nod from the standing man, and, "You presume correctly."

"Then, it would be about four years, I'd say. May I ask, then," said the sitting man, with a curious, almost amused inflection (but nothing bordering on unusual for him), "What you are called now?"

"Does it matter? You can call me whatever you wish, friend. After all, I owe you something words cannot speak. You nurtured me, even if you did not give birth to me. You helped me in my time of weakness, in the time that I was the most lost. I am forever in your debt. You may call me whatever you wish."

"Ah, Leon…" the sitting man said, with a tone of voice that told Lyon he was smiling, "Consider us even, in all respects. You gave me something very important as well...don't you remember? Ha ha...so, tell me. What do they call you now?"

Lyon smiled and chuckled quietly. There was no telling the 'old man' no once he had made up his mind. Lyon pulled his coat in closer to him and said, "Lyon."

"Lyon, hmm?" The sitting man paused for a second. "Not much of a difference, is there? Ha ha…I assume that change is to extricate yourself from your brother's shadow? After all, you were his 'reverse', were you not?"

"You are correct to assume that, Master."

"Hm? Master?" The 'Master' laughed. "Ah, Lyon, there is no need for those formalities here. You are comfortable in my presence, are you not? I said when we met again, it would be as equals. Did you forget?"

Lyon smiled warmly, as warm as the glow of the fire, though he knew his old friend could not see. "But that is what I wish to call you," he explained, pulling his coat more tightly around him, his arms crossing his body, "Master Morphos…"

There was a suppressed gasp from the direction of the head chair. The man stood up, turned his chair to face the visitor and sat down again.

Upon seeing his old friend's face, Lyon gasped and took a step back. His visage, his manner, his appearance were far from a surprise…still, they were a shock to him.

_I had heard he suffered further injuries, but I didn't know this…_

The man Lyon called "Master" indeed looked much like a monster from some ancient movie. Around his face, many bandages and wrappings slithered their way around, so much so that his entire visage was swathed, and so only his eyes, nose, and mouth were revealed. He still wore the heavy black jacket Lyon remembered him to wear, but now it was tattered and ragged and torn. Underneath was the antiquated suit of armor he wore, serving much the same as a bulletproof vest, but slightly more embellished (encrusted jewels and a reinforced silver plating would do that).

"Damn it!" the bandaged man spat. Anger had come to him so suddenly that Lyon shivered despite all else. His spine turned glacial and his breath turned to steel as the other man spoke. "That name…Morph…_Morphos_…I have shed that name, just as I have shed all my old failures."

"Then, why have you not loosed me from your sight?" Lyon asked, smiling gently. "I understand that without any of my inner suffering, I have no real reason to be here."

"No...no, that's not true. You were not a failure...not you, Lyon. You at least were no failure. You came to me, and I helped you, and you seem to be doing well enough for yourself now, aren't you? So stop degrading yourself, boy."

"As you wish, M-…sir. Still, what may I call you? I was hoping that, even if only for the shortest time, we could speak again. Catch up on…er, old times. If you'll excuse the phrasing, I didn't mean to speak of _that_ time. Just…old times. But, what may I call you?"

"Address me by the name that I am known as now. My new name. The name of the dark oblivion. The name of the lord of all frothing shadow. The name of fear. Speak the name of fear." said the bandaged man, rising to his feet and beckoning Lyon to join him at the center table, presumably for a meal and a drink.

"And what name is that?"

The bandaged man stopped in his tracks, and his exposed lips moved upwards in a strange sneer. His exposed eyes looked upward, and through the ceiling, his mouth was both sneering and smiling at the infinite heavens.

"Nergal."


	2. The Nobody Man

-_Chapter I: Memories Recalled_-

-

"Oh, Eliwood…it's been so long…"

Ninian sat on her frayed, moth-eaten beige couch, sitting back against the relative softness of the backing, and turned her head toward me.

It _had_ been a long time. Four years, in fact, since I last saw her. It was four years since she decided to set off on her own, into the world, away from the comfort of my father and my house.

"Ninian. I'm sorry I haven't been keeping in touch, I"-

"No, no, Eliwood…" Ninian said, turning her head away and outstretching her hand towards me. I could afford to take it.

Ninian…had always been like this. Ever since my father adopted her that day. I still remember tagging along, me as a young boy, walking to the orphanage, seeing all the dirtied, downtrodden faces of the poor children whom fate had so cruelly shafted. I vividly remember that when my father stepped to the desk to inquire of the children, two particular children darted out of the "holding area" and ran straight to my father. The first thing I noticed about them was their strange, oversized clothing (they were a mystic, dream-like color, like clothes of saints, and very fitting with their vibrant hair). The second, the way the younger of the two, a boy, stood in front of her weeping sister as both presented themselves to my father. And the girl was so shy, yet so gentle, so graceful, and so heartwarming to see.

From the moment my father Elbert saw them, his heart was melted. I saw in his eyes the same loving look he gave me, the smile of unconditional adoration that would live on after he died. At that moment, I truly believe it would have been impossible for him to refuse them. They were, from then on, inseparable; just like my father and I. And, in the years we grew older together, matured together, reveled together, suffered together, and never did I harbor a lasting jealousy toward them. They were more than mere siblings to me- they never were. But, I felt as if we were all bodies of the same soul, all perfectly harmonized in our understanding. If this was this thing they call "destiny", then I believe.

"Ninian…I…you do not know how much joy it brings me to see you here, and well. So, I assume you've found a steady source income, then?"

"Ah…" she replied, turning to me with a furious blush on her face. The very end of the sentence seemed to have struck her hard, for whatever reason.

There was a sudden shifting of feet in the hall, and I looked up into the doorframe to see another familiar face.

Nils looked much like his sister; like her, he had brilliant turquoise hair, which was quite unusual indeed. He had a similar build as Ninian did, as well- he was rather short for twenty, and stood at about the same height as Ninian, with the same spindly, frail frame. He wore a nondescript gray shirt and sweatpants, much fitting with the simple gray pants and sweatshirt Ninian wore. I couldn't help but noticing that upon both shirts was written the word "Draco". Their clothing was impeccably spotless.

"Heeey, Nils! How are you, buddy?"I said, standing up and extending a hand to the young man. He replied in kind with a firm, confident handshake, and put a reminiscent smile on his face.

"Eliwood…it's good to see you again, man…" Nils shook his head. "My sister, she's been so worried about you…"

"Nils!" Ninian peeped, blushing again. "Don't tell him things like that! It's embarrassing. There's…there's no reason to do that…"

I laughed. "Just like old times, huh?" Having something on my mind, I asked a second question, this time with a more serious tone to my voice and a more serious look on my face.

"But, you two seem…different, somehow. I can't put my finger on it, but…"

"The city changes everybody," Nils said, leaning against the doorframe. I sat down, amazed, as I heard him speak. His voice was so deep now, nearing adulthood as he was. "We have to…adapt in order to survive. We're city people now, Eliwood. And here, my sister knows best."

"Nils, please…" the sister said timidly. "It's…it's not so bad…"

Nils rose up, and I caught a look of defiance on his face. "It's not very good either," he said grimly. "Are things so bad here nowadays that we have to resort to selling our souls to survive?"

Ninian and I waited in silence as Nils turned out into the hall, his footsteps clomping and then slowly fading away. Yes, there was something remarkably different about him. Nils still held a place in his heart for me, but he was visibly angry. No, not angry. _Frustrated_. Frustrated that he couldn't do anything to help, frustrated he had to watch his sister live her life and being nothing more than a mere spectator. I could feel Ninian's loneliness as we sat there wordlessly, and I heard the meekness of her voice trying to hold back tears.

I turned to look Ninian in the eye, and it seemed, as usual, that Nils was still the one bane of her self-security.

"Hey, Ninian. Are you alright?"

"Yes. I-I'm fine, Eliwood," replied she, turning to me and smiling in her patently Ninian way. "Everything's all right here. We're getting by."

"I'm glad to hear." I made sure to smile back at her warmly, to comfort her. Even something as simple as a smile could make her day- I knew this from experience, both with her and with me. "So, um- where _have_ you been working lately? Have you been making good wages?"

Again, Ninian blushed, and turned her head away from me. This was steadily becoming intriguing.

"I'm sorry, if that was too personal a question, I"-

"No, I…I'm not ashamed," Ninian spoke, and it seemed to me she spoke to herself as much as to me. "I'm not ashamed of what I do."

_Why does she seem so embarrassed? Has this time apart made her shy of me? She was always so open to me before. Ninian…who are you now?_

"What do you do, Ninian? I won't embarrass you."

"Well, I'm…" she replied, putting her hands close to her face, "…an exotic dancer…"

-

The silence in the room was deafening. Of all the things I had expected her to say, this was the ultimate, omega response. Ninian…an exotic dancer? She was always the timid, mild-mannered type, one who stayed out of the center of attention, and kept a pure, chaste appearance about her. It was the last thing I would have expected her to do, to prance around on a show stage in various states of undress for the pleasure of the poor, down-on-their-luck masses. One thing was certainly, undoubtedly true: she was not the young lady I knew before, and nothing and no one I wished to could change that fact. Still, I couldn't believe what I had just heard, and so I blurted in bewilderment, "W-what?"

Ninian looked at the wall, away from me, and it was clear she was very uncomfortable with the whole subject.

"Eliwood…I'm sorry. But it's…it's all I can do."

"You don't have to apologize, Ninian," I consoled, still seeking answers to the doubts I now had about her purity, her intentions. "But…_why_? Why would you sell yourself out like this? You can't say you're comfortable standing in revealing outfits in front of a group of men, can you? The Ninian I knew could never do something like that!"

"I don't know, Eliwood!" she blurted, and she whirled her face around to look at me, tears running down her pink cheeks without restraint. "It's…the only thing I can do, dance! I'm not good for anything else!"

To hear her response pained me. The anger I felt at myself for even opening my mouth could not even be put into words. I embraced her in my arms and cooed to her in a consoling manner, just to make it up to her.

"Ah…ah, Eliwood…" Ninian choked through her sobs, her head resting on my shoulders. I caressed her hair gently with my hands; it smelled like flowers, but artificial, as though shampoo had drowned away the filth and grime of the day before. "I never wanted to upset you. I just…I just wanted to help Nils and I! This is…there are so many people wanting to see a woman like me dance for them. With this, I can finally make enough for us to get along! Please, brother, don't hate me for this!"

_Brother…Oh, Ninian, I…it's been so long since the last time I was called that. But ever since you left, you've been just a friend...  
_

"Ninian, I don't hate you. I love you, unconditionally. But, I just worry about you, about your well-being." I caressed her hair and stroked her back. "Are you happy, Ninian? Are you happy here? Because, you may not be part of our family, but if you and Nils need any help, my father and I would be more than glad to"-

"No!" she blurted abruptly, and I nearly jumped in alarm. She retreated from my arms and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her hands trembled, her lips quivered, her eyes beady and glassed. She pulled back in tone a bit.

"No, I mean- Eliwood, I can't live in your shadow forever. I have…I have to learn how to live on my own, without always leaning on you as a crutch." She looked up at me, and I remember simply looking down on her with a look that evoked both dismay and sadness. "I don't want to be a burden to you or Mr. Elbert any more…Eliwood, please forgive me…"

There was a moment, a time lasting several minutes, where neither of us could speak a word. I looked at my adopted sister, who now cried again, her eyes red and solemn. My eyes were becoming teary as well, the emotion welling up inside me. If there was any indication that bad things happen to good people, it was this.

"Ninian." I said at last, standing up and extending a hand out to her. I felt a set of vigilant eyes peering into my soul through my back. "Come on, let's go to the café together. We'll get something to drink, okay?"

She wiped an eye with her hand, and broke out into a small smile, the same smile I knew from long ago. My heart welled with joy, seeing that smile again. She rose from her seat, taking my hand and replying, "I would love to. Nils?" she added, almost as an afterthought, "will you be alright alone here for a little while?"

From behind us, Nils affirmed.

-

Outside, the snow fell in a gentle blanket of white. It had been steady in this way the whole day, but somehow the snow seemed purer now as it flittered to the ground. This was a busier part of the city, one not so tainted with the touch of poverty. As an inevitable consequence, the people here took less stake in the value of money and life than they would elsewhere. Makes sense, doesn't it?

Coffee Galaxy. Everyone knew the name. They were everywhere! It seemed at times like there was one every time you turned a corner. This particular one stood on a corner itself, windows looking out into the snow-strewn, darkness-touched, lamp-lit streets, and onto the cars making their way across the road. Lights beamed this way and that from places, from office buildings in the distance, from the affluent houses, and from the windows of stores in this decidedly commercial district. You could tell it was a pretty nice part of town from the large number of Pherae cars and dealerships in the areas. The crossed swords and lance was my father's company's logo. Though, needless to say, I didn't walk around proclaiming myself as "Eliwood Pherae" so cavalierly.

The doors of the Coffee Galaxy gave little resistance. I sat at a small, impeccably clean table, across from Ninian, who smiled. I smiled as well. I had briefly withdrawn my wallet from the pocket of my coat, which Ninian seemed to enjoy feeling (apparently she enjoyed the feel of fur), to purchase our drinks. She, sitting at our table beforehand (the table was arranged in such a way that both of us had a view of the window), was unaware of the money I spent on our drinks. This was…a nice place. A high end place.

So I ordered our coffees- our gourmet, fine coffees that warmed a cold, lonely tongue, and a cold lonely heart. But she did not stand with me as I ordered. I would not be so cruel as to hand over that money on such a frivolous thing in front of her. It may have been an entire day's salary for her, maybe two. Thinking about it, I was awfully stingy spending my money on something like this. I should have given her the world with that kind of money. But hindsight is always 20/20, and I was one step from being legally blind.

"How are you enjoying it, Ninian? Is it good?"

For a second, she stopped stark still where she sat silently, then nodded her head vigorously. "Um, yes…it's very delicious!" She took another sip of the warm, sweet coffee and sighed, eyes closed, with a satisfied smile settled upon her visage. "Thank you so much for this treat, Eliwood…"

"It's my pleasure, Ninian. It's the least I can do, not seeing you for so long."

"Yes, about that…" said she, tentatively. "I- we've been doing well recently. We've been making enough money to get along. I'm so happy I can give Nils a chance to have a happy life."

"Ninian, I'm so happy for you!" I said, honestly. I had gotten over the initial shock of hearing her profession, but I still could not get the image of my pure, sweet Ninian parading around in such a place as a strip club or a brothel. "When you left, I was so worried. I didn't know how you two would fare in the city. In a place like this, so many unpleasant things can happen. The government…they don't seem to be able to control what happens down here. All the poor people live in squalor and turn to whatever they can to get the money they need to live. The rich and the mighty live squandering their loaves of day-old bread, while the poor search for whatever they can to sustain themselves. They're forced to live their lives in constant fear of peril, always looking to make _just enough_ to keep themselves"-

"Eliwood!"

Abruptly, I stopped, my voice jammed in mid-sentence. She had squeaked in such a concerned and alarmed voice, that I immediately began to regret (once again) ever saying anything. My indignation had begun to make the volume of my voice rise, it would seem. I felt many pairs of eyes looking at us, and I felt this unmistakable urge to want to sink into my rich, elitist fur coat and disappear into thin air.

"Eliwood, please. It's not that bad," Ninian insisted as she did before, leaning in close to me and speaking softly. "I just do what I have to. As long as Nils and I are fed and happy, I'll do what I have to for us. And, I'll help you feel welcome at our house whenever you come to visit! Please, Eliwood…"

"Ninian, I'm"- I paused for a second- no one really seemed to be watching us now- and I continued, "I'm sorry for what I said. Ninian, you…you are so special to me. As long as you're happy, I'll always come to spend time with you. I just…want to look out for your best interests, is all."

"I really appreciate that, Eliwood. I'm so glad." She paused for a moment then added, "Eliwood, since I left, I…it's been a while, so…maybe you could treat me as a good friend, rather than an adoptive sister."

"Ah…" I didn't quite know what to say. It was an odd request, and I didn't think anything more of it, but I acquiesced. It had been a while, anyway. "Of course, Ninian. Friends."

She smiled beautifully.

"But…every once in a while, can I still…call you sister?"

Ninian nodded.

I made a point to give Ninian a wide smile then, same as the one she gave me. Sitting there together, sipping our coffee and warming ourselves, I thought for a moment about all those people you'd hear about on the streets dying in squalor, alone, and how they would be passed on the streets by their fellow man; by those adept in the arts of denying their existence. As a contrast, I looked over at the joy on her face, sitting there in my company and drinking in the gentle warmth of the coffee shop.

At that moment, my heart seemed to sink, to flutter, to twirl and I feared for the future. Once again, I hoped that time would stop right here: for more reasons than just one.

---

"So, what are you? Impatient, or just incompetent?"

The green-haired woman sat on the edge of the bed, a lighter balanced in one hand, a dead cigarette in the other. She livened it up and hung it from the rafters in the corner of her mouth.

"I…what do you mean, dearest?" asked the man sitting opposite her. They sat looking in different directions, as though they were ashamed to meet each other's eyes. "Do you mean to say"-

"Ha! What do you think I mean?" she interrupted, letting go a plume of smoke from her magic smoke machine. "I meant, you were horrible, Sain. What, is this becoming a track record for you now?"

The man called Sain brushed a bit of hair away, out of his face. "Ah…Rebecca, dearest…how could you say such a thing? You sounded…you sounded so happy! The way you were moaning and"-

"Ha! Ha ha!" Rebecca laughed sardonically, breathing out more smoke. She crossed her bare legs over one another. "It was fun 'while it lasted', _dearest_."

Sain sighed. She had changed, he'd swear it on his honor. Since the day they were married…she was a bit like this before, but now it seemed amplified a million times.

The brown-haired man, Sain, was rather good-looking. Looking beyond that, there was…well, nothing, really. See, he had a slender build, muscled but not overbearing, tall but not giant, with a soft and casual-looking face and vibrant eyes. Sain had just turned 31 recently; meanwhile, his wife had been 29 for only a short time now. It wasn't that this man, a ladies' man by his own admission, saw this as "just another" woman; three years ago, he saw her and was simply struck dumb by infatuation. Not the same infatuation- no, this time it was _real_. This one _wasn't_ "just another" woman.

Rebecca had been…despondent and uncooperative to his advances at first. But they were wed but two years ago. Obviously, there was something about him that made her change her mind, right? See, she was a pretty woman, too, just as he was a pretty man. In more serious times, she tied her hair up, and away from everything; in quieter times, such as during a night with her husband, she let it fall down all the way, nearly to the small of her back. Speaking in absolutes, she was smaller than her husband, but absolutely she was both stronger and quicker than he was- more athletic in all fields, to be truthful.

Maybe it was their physical appearances, or maybe it was their personalities that eventually drew them to wed. And, just as all things begin, so too do all things end.

But if their marriage was reaching anything close to an estranged state, it was independent of the man's feelings and probably independent of hers as well. In gatherings of their friends as well as with Rebecca's co-workers, they were unconditionally the most social of the couples. Always, _always_, they were the first on the dance floor, first to kiss, first to gab with each other and with whomever would listen, and first to truly appear as if they understood the inherent lack of seriousness a party embodied.

But Sain…also by his own admission (albeit reluctantly), also indulged his more -_perverted_- unhealthy desires. Those ladies and gents down at the Legs of a Pegasus knew Sain well…rather, they knew his money, and they knew he had a _lot_ of it. There were some urges that needed to be constantly fed, even if they are already fed right here at home- and Sain made damn sure he never went hungry.

Then Rebecca, the strong-willed woman, (and a hotshot new rookie of Lycia City's vaunted West Precinct Patrol Division) uncrossed her legs and snuffed her cigarette before indulging in (yet) another one. She sat there, garbed in only her _Etrurian-cotton_ bra and _silk_ panties; surprisingly, Sain sat looking away (at the wall, no less), and missing all too precious opportunity to spy his wife in her undergarments.

"Hm," the woman continued, taking another drag, "In this case, I'm going to settle on 'incompetent'. You _never_ were that good at it, Sain. You'd think I was some still life, or a statue or something! You don't even know how to move around correctly!"

"My dear…" Sain said, lowering his head.

"Ah!" she bit back, raising a hand and turning her head to look at his back. "I don't care what you're going to say. It doesn't matter. What's done with's done with, after all- right?"

"Yes…done with."

Rebecca took another drag and stared on up into the drab plainness of the ceiling. "Oh, Sain…you know, sometimes I don't understand you. I don't understand what you want, what you strive for, what you really intend to do with your life."

"I…I've told you, I don't rightly know. I'm- I am…"

"You don't have to justify it to me, Sain. I just wanted to know. It's not a big deal."

"I see. I apologize. I was making assumptions…"

She shook her head. "No, it's nothing. Don't worry about it, huh? But, Sain?"

Sain turned around and situated himself on top of the bedsheets. She turned her body and sat on the edge, looking over at him.

"I love you, Sain."

"I…truly?"

"You know so, don't you? Or don't you believe me?"

"Ah!" Sain exclaimed, something hitting him hard, so much so that he drew himself back a bit, his face pulled away and his eyes blinking in certain surprise. "N-No, dearest, I believe you! I truly do believe, my lovely!"

Rebecca smiled. "I know."

"And, Rebecca? I love you too."

---

_An inner universe…you live in your own world, Ephraim. I…don't know how to say it to you. You were…involved in something big, that is all I can say. Please forgive me if I can say no more. You have…a beautiful mind…_

-

Seeing the woman again started a chain reaction, like tumbling blocks on a great hill. I got my mind working, the gears cranking, the clockwork starting up again after so many years of dormancy. It was all coming back to me now. She was an old acquaintance of mine…a fiancee, even. But, what else?

"Oh, Ephraim…it's been so long…" the woman said, pulling me close. I had embraced her correctly now, my arms around her back, her arms around mine- as it seemed she held quite a bit of affection for me. I let her stay there for a while, a while that may have been minutes or hours; I was not in the state of mind to judge something as quantitative as time. But she did release me, and urged me into a small room off of this main corridor (which was infinitely better lit than the floor above). It was a small, nondescript sitting room, with a row of chairs and a table with a pile of magazines strewn here and there atop it. What seemed like a disused television screen sat in one of the back corners, amidst a tangle of wires. The room was claustrophobic.

"Ephraim, please, sit down. Please," the familiar woman spoke, in a tone that I could only describe as pleading. She didn't even have to urge me; I sat down in a chair at the end, nearest the door, and she sat down beside me.

"Do you…do you remember who I am?"

It broke my heart to say. "I'm sorry, I…do not."

She closed her eyes and nodded, then re-opened them. "Your voice," she noted, "it's…so weak."

It was indeed so. I stuck by my original conclusion, that it had become weak with disuse in my time alone.

"Do you," she began, her own voice seeming to falter and choke up on her, "Do you…remember your own name?"

It shattered my very spirit to say. "I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes again and swallowed, nodding slowly. A lone tear slid down her pretty face again, and fell onto her lap. She wiped her eyes dry, then opened them.

"What…what I'm about to tell you," the woman said, pausing to pick the perfect words, "may be difficult to understand. Please, try to believe me."

"I have no reason to not believe you, do I?" I asked her earnestly, leaning forward in my seat and putting a hand to her shoulder. "I've spent what seems like eternity here alone, upstairs. I woke up not knowing who I was or where I was. Being alone, having no idea of my surroundings, I felt as if I was slowly going insane. Just to see your live face cheers me. Please, I want to know what's going on…and why you seem so familiar to me."

The woman drew a sharp breath, closed her eyes, and, sinking back into her seat, exhaled. I sat back, folded my hands, and looked at her intently.

"Alright, well, let me begin. Your name is Ephraim Renais, son of the wealthy businessman Fado Renais. Knowing when you were born, I can say with some certainty that you are 33 years old. You live alone in a building in the suburbs of the city of Caerleon."

I waited to see if she would continue. I leaned forward. "I see. Are you sure?" I blurted, sharply. She seemed to be startled for a moment, before fervently replying "yes!"

"I see…Ephraim Renais, son of Fado Renais. I…it all sounds so familiar…" I said, as it was the honest truth. Ephraim…that sounded like a good name for me. "Wait a minute. I'm wearing these clothes…this coat! This vest…these aren't normal clothes, are they?"

"They…they're your father's!" she insisted, seeming to be a bit flustered. I put my hand out gently, but she shook her head, took a deep breath, and sat back. "I'm sorry. They are the clothes your…er, your father wore. Er, your father is a wealthy man, so…"

"I see. That makes sense, doesn't it? But, wait a moment. I know who I am, but…who are you?"

The woman turned away, and by the color that had come to her face, she was a bit embarrassed. No, in fact, she clenched her forehead as though maybe she was in pain now. I couldn't stand to see that look on that lovely face of hers, and immediately I regretted letting myself speak so recklessly.

_So…perhaps she is my fiancee after all? How did I remember that? Does that mean-_

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, turning over to try to glimpse her face, "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," the woman said. "It's just…seeing you again makes me so emotional. Ephraim, my name is Selena Crescent. I'm"-

"I know," I interrupted, "You're my lover, aren't you?"

"Ah!"

I didn't give the woman calling herself Selena any chance to get in another word edgewise. I leaned in close, wrapped my hand around the back of her neck, and plunged my lips into hers. I may have made another spur-of-the-moment mistake, but it was the only thing I could think to do. For a second, she seemed to be surprised by my bold play- then, she shut her eyes and simply surrendered herself. Her lips were so comforting now; they made me feel like I really existed again…

A thousand thoughts flowed through my head, a thousand questions unanswered. I had no business just sitting here like this. But, it felt like some very important part of me had been lost, that maybe in my bout of sickness or insanity I had lost some important piece of who I was. It was because I felt so empty, and at the time, it was the one thing I thought of to do that could help fill that gaping void in my mind and in my heart.

For the first time I could rightly remember, I felt good. I still didn't know anything more, but I felt good.

-

_Ephraim, who are your friends? Are they kind to you? Are they happy in your company? What void could they possibly fill in your existence? What have I not helped you fulfill? How could I have failed you? Don't you see? They're not who you think they are…_


End file.
